Photograph
by onceinabluemoon0013
Summary: "You still have it?" he questions quietly, his blue-green orbs finally meeting hers. "I thought…. I thought you had thrown it away." "I thought you had deleted me," she counters.


**I've been dealing with writer's block lately, so, unfortunately, I haven't been able to update my WIPs. I should have known Ed Sheeran would save me. :) Hope you like this little bit of angst.**

* * *

 _Oh you can fit me_

 _Inside the necklace you got when you were 16_

 _Next to your heartbeat_

 _Where I should be_

 _Keep it deep within your soul_

XXXXX

Molly's alarm startles her awake at precisely 6 o'clock, just like every other day of the week.

She climbs out of bed, grabbing her dressing gown (a bright pink and green, fluffy monstrosity that Mrs. Hudson had given her to celebrate her engagement) from the back of her chair as she stumbles into the bathroom and begins preparing herself for the long day ahead.

It isn't until her teeth are brushed and her hair neatly tied back from her freshly-scrubbed face that she lets her eyes drift over to the golden locket placed carefully on the table beside her bed. She runs her fingers over the cool metal, closing her eyes as memory after memory washes over her like waves on the beach.

XXXXX

 _She is seven years old, exploring the forest surrounding her house. Her faithful tabby, Fudge, trails along behind her. A faint rustling sounds from her left, and Fudge hisses his displeasure as she goes to investigate. Her mum would undoubtedly have a fit if she knew what she was doing, but Molly has long accepted that her mother didn't have to know_ everything _her daughter gets up to._

" _Hello?" she calls out tentatively, crawling under the low hanging tree branches. "Is anyone there?"_

" _Obviously," a boy's voice replies. As she trips into the clearing, she sees a young boy, probably around her own age, hunched over something on the ground. She nervously draws closer, her curiosity drowning out her dad's voice in her head warning her never to talk to strangers._

" _What are you looking at?"_

 _She finally reaches him, but her foot catches a branch and she loses her balance, catching herself on his shoulder. He grasps her wrist to steady her, finally bringing his head up and meeting her gaze. His eyes are the most beautiful things she's ever seen in her seven years of existence, and she blushes profusely as he studies her._

 _He clears his throat expectantly, and, realizing she's still holding onto him, she quickly pulls away, embarrassment reddening her cheeks even further. "S-sorry," she mutters, shuffling her feet._

 _He nods his head in acknowledgement before returning his attention to what he'd been so fascinated with before._

" _What's that?" she asks again, peering over his shoulder. It appears to be a collection of leaves, sorted by color and shape. He examines each one intently before selecting a dark green, curvy specimen._

" _Experiment," he answers, without offering further clarification. Molly's smile widens._

" _Ooh, what kind of experiment?" she says excitedly. "I love science! Oh, and… My name's Molly, by the way. Molly Hooper."_

 _The boy turns to her once more, scrutinizing her with more interest this time. He pulls a matchbook out of his pocket and holds out a hand. He offers her a mischievous grin as he clasps her tiny fingers between his slightly bigger ones._

" _Well, Molly Hooper," he begins, "I'm comparing the burning rate and patterns of different leaves. Care to join me?"_

 _She beams and kneels down beside him. "O-okay."_

" _I'm Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."_

XXXXX

The oval pendant is small in her hand, and Molly is struck by how it glitters as it catches the sunlight filtering in through the window.

It is an antique, scratches marring its smooth surface, although Molly can still see hints of its past magnificence. A small H is carved into the back.

It was a gift on her sixteenth birthday. She still considers it one of the best she's ever received.

XXXXX

 _Molly sits alone in the hospital waiting room, fiddling with the edges of her skirt. She knows she should be crying, should feel_ something _aside from this emptiness welling up inside of her. Instead, however, she is completely numb, waiting for her mum to return._

 _A voice calls her name, and she looks up, relieved to see her best friend striding briskly towards her._

 _He takes the hard, uncomfortable seat beside hers, not quite touching but close enough that she can feel the energy always radiating from him in droves. He moves his arm slightly to the left, wanting to offer her comfort but unsure how. She closes the remaining distance, gripping his hand tightly as if afraid to let go._

 _He squeezes back. "Molly, I…. I heard about your dad. I'm sorry." Hearing the unusual phrase fall from his lips, the floodgates finally break and Molly begins sobbing._

 _Sherlock pulls her into his side, running his hand up and down her arm as she cries into his chest. She inhales deeply, consoled by the familiar scent, a combination of the cigarettes he snuck when his mum wasn't watching and the cologne he wore to hide it._

 _Molly doesn't know how long they sit there, curled together, but eventually the tears stop flowing and she pulls away slightly to look at him._

" _Mum says…. She says we'll have to move in with her sister for a while. At least until she finds a job and can support us on her own." She closes her eyes as she leans back into him, one arm thrown across his chest as she embraces him snugly._

 _Her aunt lives four hours away._

 _Sherlock draws back, fumbling in his jacket pocket for something. He pulls out a small black box, adorned on top with a bright pink bow. Molly lets out a pained laugh. She has almost forgotten that it is her sixteenth birthday. Of course Sherlock would remember, even if he forgets to wear shoes most days._

" _I know this isn't the best time, but I…. Happy birthday, Molly Hooper," he says, placing the box in her outstretched palm. Gently prying it open, she finds a beautiful, gold locket. "It's a family heirloom," he utters quietly, pointing at the H engraved on the back. "Mummy was ecstatic when I asked if I could give it to you. You're the closest thing she has to a daughter." The corner of his mouth tilts up as he examines the jewelry._

" _Sherlock, I can't… I can't accept this!" she begins, but is cut off as he takes the box from her hand and removes the locket. Pushing her hair to the side, he smoothly unclasps the necklace and refastens it behind her head before she can object._

" _Refusal is not an option, Molly," he declares softly, his breath tickling her face. Molly feels the icy gold settle against her skin as he finally moves back. "There. Now you'll always have something to remember me by."_

I don't think I'll need a trinket to remember you, Sherlock, _she thinks to herself._ I couldn't forget you if I tried.

 _She and her mother move two weeks later, and Molly's sixteen-year-old heart dies a little at the knowledge that she will probably never see Sherlock again._

XXXXX

Pulling herself out of her thoughts, Molly glances at her clock and notices with some vexation that she is running late.

She clamps the jewelry around her neck and rushes out the door, content to once more bury herself in her work.

XXXXX

" _I trust you'll fit in quite nicely here, Dr. Hooper. If there's anything else you need, don't hesitate to ask!" Mike Stamford twitters cheerfully before he walks out of the lab, leaving Molly to familiarize herself with her new environment. She runs her hands lovingly over the brand new thermocycler, eyes lighting up as they gaze upon a set of micropipettes. She cannot wait to try out all of this equipment._

 _She is just deciding which of the perfectly-preserved slides would be best to break in the microscope when the door springs open again, pushed inward with so much force that it slams against the wall. She jumps in surprise, nearly tripping over a stool._

 _Molly curses under her breath and is about to tell off the intruder when she recognizes his blue-green eyes and dark, curly hair._

 _She inhales sharply, her previous anger vanished, to be replaced with what she can only describe as pure wonder. She has not seen or heard from Sherlock Holmes in over a decade, and now, it seems, he has tracked her down. She tries to quell her exhilaration. (She fails. Spectacularly.)_

 _Molly opens her mouth to speak, but she doesn't quite know what to say. How do you greet your childhood best friend who you haven't seen in years?_

 _As it turns out, she doesn't have to say anything, because he breaks the silence first._

" _You must be the new pathologist," he articulates brusquely. "Dr…. Hooper, was it?"_

 _She merely nods, too stunned and hurt by his cruel indifference to utter a word. "I'm Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective. Stamford must have mentioned that I come in and use the lab on occasion. I trust we will come to know each other quite well." With that, he strolls out again, not giving her any time to respond._

 _She plops onto the nearest stool. Shakily, she rummages through the pocket of her trousers and pulls out the gold locket that she has kept with her since her sixteenth birthday. Lower lip trembling, she stares at it for a moment, taking deep breaths to calm her racing heart._

 _Sighing, she slips it back into her pocket and resumes investigating St. Bart's facilities._

XXXXX

Taking a much-needed break after completing the autopsy of a young mother who happened to be driving through the wrong intersection at the wrong time, Molly digs through her locker looking for her spare pen when she stumbles upon the locket again.

Timidly, she grabs it and opens the necklace. With trembling fingers she reveals a small photograph.

It's a rather ordinary image, completely unremarkable in its simplicity. Two people deep in conversation, eyes only for each other as an unnoticed photographer snapped their photo and preserved what should have been a private moment.

Molly gently traces the lines of the man's face, her index finger lingering on his lips, curved upwards into a soft smile meant only for the woman in front of him. She, in turn, beams up at him, her pure adoration for him obvious even from this one glimpse into their relationship.

XXXXX

 _Sherlock marches rapidly down the street towards their next destination, Molly trailing along behind him. Working so closely with him outside of St. Bart's, solving cases with him, reminds Molly of happier times, when she and Sherlock were just two teenagers against the world._

 _He pivots abruptly, causing Molly to smack into him and drop her bag in the process._

" _Oh for the love of–," she starts, and throws her hands up in exasperation. She bends over to collect her things, shoving everything haphazardly back inside the large bag. Finally, she stands up, brushes her hair away from her face and groans._

 _Still muttering obscenities under her breath, she looks up, startled to see Sherlock standing much closer than he was before. Instead of meeting her eyes, however, his gaze is completely focused on her sternum._

 _Glancing down, Molly is surprised to see her locket resting serenely on her breast bone. It must have fallen out from where she'd tucked it under her shirt without her realizing._

 _Sherlock tentatively reaches out a hand but does not touch her, fingers hovering over the locket. He gulps, audibly, and Molly finds herself wishing, not for the first time, that she could read his thoughts._

" _You still have it?" he questions quietly, his blue-green orbs finally meeting hers. "I thought…. I thought you had thrown it away."_

" _I thought you had deleted me," she counters. A half-smile lights up one corner of her mouth, and she can just see the shadow of a grin on his own._

" _As if that could ever happen!" he scoffs, but Molly can hear the affection in his voice. "I would never…. That's not possible." His smile finally breaks through, and Molly matches it with a brilliant one of her own._

 _At that moment, unseen to the couple on the pavement, a photographer captures the image on film, to be sold and placed on the front page of Britain's top gossip magazine the very next day._

 _Molly always marks the day the photograph is published as the beginning of the end of her engagement to Tom._

XXXXX

The ringing of her mobile interrupts Molly's musings. Seeing Mary Watson's name on the screen, she smiles and answers.

The two women have cultivated a close friendship since Sherlock's gunshot wound and subsequent hospitalization. Mary had spent one long night disclosing some of her more sordid secrets to Molly, who had listened and tried to empathize as best she could.

It was Mary, in fact, who had told Molly about Sherlock shooting Charles Augustus Magnussen at point blank range.

XXXXX

 _Still reeling from Mary's phone call, Molly starts at the loud knock on her door._

 _Sluggishly, she ambles over and pulls it open, revealing a rather distraught consulting detective. She is surprised to see him, because surely he has more pressing matters to take care of._

 _Taking in his haggard appearance, however, she realizes she has rarely seen him looking so troubled. The only instance that springs to mind is after they had successfully convinced John Watson that he had witnessed his best friend's death._

 _His cheeks are flushed as he hurries into the flat, slamming the door behind him and pacing frenetically in her entryway._

" _Sherlock, what…? Are you okay? I could make some tea, I suppose," she offers, unsure what else to do._

" _Do you still have the locket?" he asks, completely ignoring her statement._

" _Y-yes."_

" _Good. Go get it." At her raised eyebrow, he amends, "Please, Molly."_

 _Shaking her head in confusion, she goes into her bedroom to retrieve the necklace. Walking back out again, she presents it to him when she is once more standing in front of him._

 _He takes it from her outstretched palm, stroking it lightly with his violinist's fingers as he reaches into the inside pocket of his coat with his free hand._

 _He pulls out a photo, small enough to fit inside the locket. Securing it into position, he hands it back over to her. Gazing at the photograph, she fights back her tears._

" _Molly."_

 _Her head jerks up when he says her name, his voice tinged with longing and regret. Molly once again finds herself dreaming of a simpler period in her life, where nothing mattered more than what ill-advised experiment the pair would attempt next._

" _I know I have never been the most sentimental man, Molly. " She scoffs at that. "But recent events have pushed everything into sharper focus, and I…. I am sorry, Molly Hooper, for ever making you doubt that you matter to me." He reaches over and delicately brushes her cheekbone, his beautiful eyes boring into hers._

 _His gaze shifts downward, staring at a suspicious-looking stain on her carpet. "Mycroft has tasked me with a new mission. I leave in five days."_

 _Something in his tone alerts her that all is not right. "When… when will you be back?" she probes faintly, afraid of the answer._

 _Instead of replying, however, he brings his head up once more, the truth clear in his expression. Her eyelids flutter shut in an attempt to quash the flow of tears, but a single drop escapes. Sherlock catches it as it rolls down her cheek._

" _Molly, I know… I know that I have no right to ask you this, but… would you hold on to this locket for me? As a reminder that, wherever I end up, my heart will always be here. With you."_

 _Unable to stop herself, she shoots up onto her toes, meeting his waiting lips with her eager ones. Although the kiss remains chaste, Molly does her best to infuse it with all the passion and love she feels for this awkward, brilliant man._

 _She pulls back suddenly, catching him off-guard. He attempts to follow her mouth, but she stops him with a hand on his chest. "I'll wait for you," she vows. "I'll wait for you to come home to me."_

" _Molly, I don't–"_

" _No!" she interjects fiercely. "You_ will _come back to me, Sherlock Holmes! Do you understand?"_

" _Well, I…. I know better than to bet against Molly Hooper when she sets her mind to something," he acknowledges, grinning at her. "I suppose I will have to return, then."_

" _Yes, I suppose you will."_

 _He kisses her one last time as he prepares to leave, to wrestle whatever dangerous situation Mycroft has in store for him. She gives him one last, watery smile, clutching her locket for dear life._

" _Until we meet again, Molly Hooper," he pledges reverently, gazing at her again before he turns and walks away._

XXXXX

Molly arrives back at her flat after work. Toby rubs against her legs as she locks the door, purring in an effort to soothe his owner. Toby always has been exceptionally observant when it comes to understanding her moods.

She wanders into her bedroom, quickly donning some pajamas and slipping between her lavender sheets. She unclasps the locket dangling from her neck, staring at it where it rests in the palm of her hand.

It has been four days since Sherlock came to visit her, four days since she promised to wait for him. He leaves tomorrow, to a destination he refused to reveal. She is not sure how she will manage to pretend that everything is fine, when she knows that the man she loves could be dying at any moment.

She sets the necklace on her bedside table and turns off the light.

* * *

 **The End?**

 **Please review and let me know what you thought!**


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